


dreams

by lucidnightmares



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Depressing, Dreams, Gen, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Not Happy, One Shot, Post-Game(s), Random & Short, Shinguji Korekiyo-centric, Short, Short One Shot, all angst baby!, ignore the fact i have two angst fics called dreams for a second, implied trauma if you Squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucidnightmares/pseuds/lucidnightmares
Summary: Korekiyo isn’t used to having to put so much effort towards falling asleep.
Kudos: 12





	dreams

Korekiyo isn’t used to having to put so much effort towards falling asleep.

He’s always been an insomniac, he knows that, but the constant tossing and turning and getting up and taking showers and drinking soda and lying down and getting up and watching television and you get it, it’s new. New as it can be.

It never feels like there’s time for falling asleep, never enough time for resting or relaxing, there’s never any time left. He feels a constant clock ticking, counting down, waiting, waiting for him to let his guard down. He waits, and he fears, and he shakes. He knows it’s not realistic, he knows there’s no longer a necessity to having to fear for his life, but. He can’t help but lay there.

Sometimes he does wind up falling asleep. And he dreams. Dreams about many things, dreams about people he’s seen before in person, people he’s seen on the television, people he’s seen in the news, people he hopes don’t know he’s dreaming about them.

Sometimes, he dreams about a light green haired adventurer wearing baggy clothes with fuschia dripping from his head, or maybe a blonde pianist with musical notes in her hair with a noose hanging from her neck, and so on. He weeps when he awakes from those dreams, shivering and shaking and sobbing, wondering if it was all just a dream, wondering if the killing game ever happened, wondering if he truly did have it in him to kill not one but two people.

Other times, he dreams about a girl older than him with sleek long hair and red lipstick and a sickeningly gentle voice, and on those nights, he wakes up sobbing harder than the other times, begging for forgiveness to someone who can’t give it to him, begging for mercy to someone who wouldn’t give it to him.

He never dreams about the girl with white hair in pigtails and the girl with black hair in braids, though, and only, ever so occasionally, does he dream about the red-haired, petite girl with a witch hat, and on those nights, he feels remorse. Remorse for doing something he knows he had no control over, that he knows was pre-written, that he knows he had no say in. But he did it anyway.

And, some nights, his dreams are filled with a haunting melody, of off-key voices, bored and confused and normal and excited, and he can still almost hear the crash, loud and piercing and terrifying, never apologetic, never remorseful, never what he is now.

Most nights, though, he dreams about an anthropologist with choppy deep green long hair, and a black mask that reaches down to his neck, and an oddly designed uniform, and a creepy laugh, he dreams about the person he never will be, he dreams about the person he always will be, he dreams about the person that he’s never met but once was.

He doesn’t like it when he dreams.


End file.
